The Lost Chapters of Pern
by theladyearl
Summary: A collection of missing scenes, AUs, and flights of fancy related to Pern! Especially Harper Hall-centric.
1. Master Domick's New Song

Title: Master Domick's New Song (Or, Why You Should Never Anger A Harper)

Author's notes: Because Domick can hold a grudge!

* * *

Despite Half-Circle's apparent ability to instill extreme obedience into its youth, there were few things that could break up a lesson faster than that of a bronze dragon. Even Elgion's most passive pupils couldn't keep their eyes from straying. Even _he _couldn't keep his eyes away. Was that T'gellan and Monarth and- no, it couldn't be.

It was a losing battle. Elgion dismissed his class just as a drudge arrived to summon him. Luckily, Monarth had moved from the hold's mostly unused pennant heights to the warm rocks overlooking the harbor, and the late afternoon sun only made him gleam brighter. Any children who would have followed Elgion like lost hatchlings instead diverted themselves to the window.

"Elgion, lad!" Domick said, tossing a friendly arm around the journeyman's shoulders. "How are you, dear fellow? It's been years!"

Elgion barely resisted the urge to push himself away- or wet himself in fear. "I've been - fine?" he stammered. It had indeed been years. Seven years, in fact, since Domick had bodily thrown him out of his composition class for, as the man had put it, utter imbicility. "Why are y- I mean, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Domick grinned. It was a most terrifying sight. "I've brought you the latest music from the Hall. T'gellan's been very obliging. I find myself _especially _eager to see the Sea Hold that spawned our newest journeyman- or journeywoman, I should say. Menolly is a great favorite of mine." His lips drew further apart as his smile grew even more feral.

Oh, shards.

* * *

The unexpected arrival of a Wingleader and a Master was cause for celebration in most holds, and even dour Half Circle conjured up some excitement and delicacies. A disturbingly docile Domick agreed to Yanus' invitation of dinner and evening entertainment. Through narrowed, suspicious eyes, Elgion had watched him engage in cordial small talk with both Yanus and Mavi, as well as the other occupants of his table.

After the sweet course had been finished, Domick pushed back his chair. "Music?" he asked, and was rewarded with shouts of encouragement. Drawing out a gitar from behind the high table, Domick gave the traditional harper signal to Elgion, who in turn nodded to several of the fisherfolk and even a couple of his more promising students. Drums and sticks were duly produced and brought to the raised head table, which was cleared away to make an impromptu stage.

Gidon and Farley, small amongst the brawny fisherman, were flushed with both pleasure and nerves from being singled out. "Why don't we start with a group song?" said Domick in a low voice, beckoning the lads over with a twist of his hand. "You see, when harpers wave like this," and he demonstrated, "we're going to sing with the audience. And when we shift our fingers into a slight V, it means only the musicians will sing."

Gidon started waving his left hand around. Elgion was surprised when Domick held his tongue, because according to proper harper codes, Gidon would be calling for their MasterHarper to supervise a solo in a weyr due to dangerous circumstances.

"And when it's a dance?" Farley asked, eyes wide.

Domick bent his arm at an angle, then raised it in a sharp motion upward. "This! And if you're a harper, and not on the stage with an instrument, then you grab the prettiest lass you can find, because it's going to be a fast one!"

The boys were enchanted. Worshipfully, they took their place next to Domick and Elgion, slinging their drum straps from their shoulders and readying their hands for rhythm.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Master Domick?" Elgion whispered, barely moving his lips.

"The Duty Song, if you please," he replied, all innocence.

* * *

The evening turned into a pleasant revelry of singing, dancing, and stomping to infectious rhythms, and even Yanus and Mavi protested when T'gellan wished to take the harper back to his hall.

"One more, then," the bronze wingleader agreed, raising his mug of ale, and settled down on his bench. "To tide me over for Fall over Nerat tomorrow. Do the one you wrote yesterday, Dom. They can be the first to hear it."

Domick struck a nice long chord on his gitar, and the crowd cheered. Half Circle often didn't get new music until well after its initial circulation. He broke into a good foot-stomping strum, all majors and hearty full tones.

"I once knew a man

And a fool was he,

Who drank all his beer

And became thirsty.

He took an empty bucket

And he threw it in the sea.

He drank what he found

Until he couldn't see

And oh, what a fool was he!"

Domick was in fine form, stomping and smiling and singing. The following verses were silly and sea-oriented. The same man tried to mend his nets with string from his clothing and had to go without pants, lost his anchor while trying to outsmart a shipfish who had taken a liking to his catch, and fallen into the water after staring too hard at the setting sun. His audience loved it, and had taken to singing the last line of every verse at the top of their inebriated lungs.

Elgion, on the other hand, was confused. This simple drinking song was unlike Domick's intricate compositions in every conceivable way. Had he written such a tune-or such purile lyrics- as a student, he'd have expected a much deserved wallop over the head.

Other than his greeting to Elgion, Domick had gone far out of his usual way to be a pleasing guest all night ... but all of Elgion's finely-tuned harper instincts were telling him that trouble was coming.

And so it was.

The final verse began with a sour minor chord, and with it, Domick's jovial manner changed as quickly as the sea before a storm. Facing toward Yanus, he struck his gitar with angry, resonating blows. His mouth twisted, and his black eyes hardened as they remained fixed on the Sea Holder's face.

"I once knew a man,

And a fool was he,

He had a lovely daughter

With eyes like the sea.

She sang with her heart

And he beat her with glee,

Until her spirt broke

And she ran 'til she was free.

And oh, what a fool was he!"

Domick finished with a grand flourish, but the hall was silent, its occupants sitting with their mouths gaping open and their hands still poised to clap with the beat.

T'gellan stood, stretching his arms and legs. "Well, shall we call it a night?" he said, smiling. He and Domick walked out of the hall and into the stairwell that reached the dragonheights. In the quiet, their footsteps could be heard all the way to the top. Monarth's clear bugle faded into the night before Yanus, red-faced and furious, left the hall without another word.

Shards, indeed.

* * *

It would have pleased Elgion to know that, for all the years until the MasterHarper and Aivas's deaths, Robinton required Domick to formally request permission for dragon transport. Even though Sebell lifted this ban at the beginning of his tenure, no one dared incite Domick's wrath by spreading the gossip.

What Elgion did learn, to his horror, was that T'gellan and Domick had made a number of stops that day. Together, they performed that song at taverns in every major and minor hold Sea Hold in the Nerat area; in the weeks to follow, whenever his duties would permit him the leisure, T'gellan would visit friends inland as well to teach them the clever little ditty his new friend Domick had written.

While Yanus's folk had too much respect for their Holder to sing that song ever again, every incoming ship, traveler and trader would be humming the infectious tune.

Never, ever anger a harper.


	2. Lady Rill

Title: Lady Rill

Author's notes: This is in first person, which I generally don't use, in deference to _Nerilka's Story. _A short chapter on the different ways Nerilka lets herself be physically touched by others, while never quite understanding her worth, and how Alessan (might have!) become emotionally involved in their marriage.

_(from Nerilka's Story) _"He [Macabir] put a comforting hand on my shoulder. No one would dare such a familiarity toward the Lady Nerilka, yet I did not find it offensive to be handled. It proved I was a human being."

* * *

Because it had been relatively unscathed, though Hold, Hall and Weyr valiantly provided much help and labor during the crisis, High Reaches Hold was the first to host a Gather in the Turn following the plague. I am not sure when this had been decided, but Alessan and I had been left out of the discussion, a kindness for which I was very grateful.

The unmercifully warm winter of the previous Turn was not repeated, but for once the bitter chill was regarded as a boon. Alessan, ever the gracious spouse, had made sure my new riding jacket was warm enough both for the ride _between_ and the cold afternoon air. He helped me into the wherhide garmet, fastening the belt carefully but impersonally over my increasing belly. I knew he was pleased, in his own way, that I was carrying a child, but he tended not to linger over the emotional aspects of my pregnancy.

To be fair, I did not expect him to rejoice. Alessan had lost so much, and surely experience had taught him that any potential happiness could -and would- be snatched away at the first opportunity. I, myself, was merely glad that he no longer wished to die, now that Ruatha's blood succession was assured.

"Lord Alessan, Lady Nerilka," said M'barak, having landed Arith in the bare, swept courtyard.

"Good afternoon," I replied. Alessan nodded stiffly, silent and aloof. "It is always a pleasure, M'barak and Arith."

The young man smiled, though I could tell he was nervous, as we all were. The memory of our last Gathers had not yet faded, and might never will. "I traded duties to get Ruathan transport," he said, proudly. "Oklina asked me to tell you, Lord Alessan, that she'll miss seeing you today, but Hannath is still bound to the Weyr. She hopes to begin training _between_ in time to be present for the, er, baby." Like most boys, M'barak's ears turned red at the notion of childbirth. "Lady Nerilka, are you ... safe to travel by dragon? I mean, will you lose the- oh, when we go _between_-"

I assured him that I was far enough along- but not too gravid- for dragonflight, as succinctly and clinically as I could. M'barak, relieved that he would not be responsible for the miscarriage of Ruatha's heir, helped us onto patient Arith and insisted that I be buckled into his safety riding harness, double and triple-checking the fit of the straps before declaring it to be sufficient.

"Ready?" he asked over his shoulder, gripping my forearm with one hand, the other holding on to the wherhide harness.

I glanced at Alessan, but his eyes were lost and clouded, fixed upon a painful memory. "Yes, M'barak," I said, nodding, my heart heavy. Arith sprang into the air, and the dark emptiness of _between_ came as a welcome relief.

* * *

The Gather was gay and bright with the forced cheer of those who wished to have a good time. Laughter was just a bit too loud, greetings were overly warm and laden with too many fond endearments. Alessan was like a stone in the midst of the socializing crowd, leaving me to attend to pleasantries.

Even after assuming the duties of Lady Holder for almost a Turn, I still felt adrift amongst the elite of our continent. Never had I imagined such a future; I had always expected I would live my life in the stillroom of Fort, an old maid remembered only when expected to perform a necessary duty. Instead, I stood and clasped hands with Weyrleaders and Holders alike, my jacket having been whisked away by an attentive drudge, and warmly greeted by name. I was offered enough congratulations and compliments to make my head spin- my lovely new gown was admired, as well as my increasing girth and the glow of pregnancy. The ladies, especially, were ecstatic about my child. The plague had caused many women to miscarry, and like myself, many of the other Lady Holders were eager to replenish dwindling bloodlines.

Feeling a little dazed by the excessive goodwill, I was pleased to spot Capiam and Desdra, two people who knew me as I am, rather than a lofty title. I left Alessan with Lord Diatis, who was attempting to engage him in conversation, and wound my way through the finely-dressed masses.

"Rill!" Desdra called as I approached. She had her hand tucked securely in Capiam's arm, as to not lose him in the tumultuous bustle. I had heard they had been espoused since the autumn, and was glad to see them as a happy couple.

As I greeted Desdra, I heard a startled gasp. "_Rill_?" a voice said, and I turned to see a tall man with bright, new Master Healer knots at his shoulder.

Had he been unshaven and utterly exhausted, I might have recognized him more quickly. As it was, it took me several long seconds to recall the familiar face. "Macabir!" I exclaimed, genuinely glad to see him. "And journeyman no more, I see. Master Macabir, well met!"

I could hear Desdra's laugh as I was snatched up in an embrace, spun around in a circle, thumped on the back, and set back down again with a whoop of pure enthusiasm. "The Hall was drummed that you went to Ruatha," Macabir said, grinning widely, "but I kept looking for your name on new apprentice lists, anyway. I was so sure you'd come back for more training! But you just disappeared after that-" he paused to glare at Desdra, who was clearly enjoying herself, entirely at my expense, "-though _this one here _apparently knew all about it, and didn't tell me a single sharding thing!"

"Ne_ril_ka," Desdra drawled my name slowly, with relish, and I could feel my face grow hot in anticipation of embarrassment, "was otherwise occupied."

Macabir's surprise was comical; for the first time, he seemed to notice my elaborate attire, the jewels sparkling at my throat and wrists. "Nerilka? You mean-" he looked down at me, his mouth open in shock.

"Lady Nerilka is my _wife_," Alessan snarled behind me. I hadn't even heard his approach. "Unhand my _wife_, healer."

Macabir dropped my hands as if they had burned him; indeed, I hadn't even noticed he had still held them. "Lord Alessan of Ruatha," I said, warningly, as his light eyes moved from Macabir to my hands to my flushed cheeks. "This is Master Macabir. He was the healer in charge at Fort's internment camp, where I volunteered before traveling to Ruatha."

"I see." Alessan said, unyielding. "It is a pleasure." Ice dripped from his voice, and even Macabir's smiling good cheer began to crack.

"Why don't we get some wine," Capiam interjected, the picture of diplomacy, though he ruined the effect by rolling his eyes at Desdra behind Alessan's back. "Macabir?"

"Coming," the young healer replied. "It was good to see you, Rill- I mean, Lady Nerilka." At his slip, Macabir regarded Alessan from the corner of his eyes, like a wary canine.

"I prefer Rill, Macabir. We can catch up later," I told him, apologetically, while Alessan continued to palpably seethe over my shoulder. With a wave, Macabir followed Desdra and Capiam back into the crowd, where they were immediately lost to view. "Alessan, where are your manners?" I asked, exasperated. Alessan was brusque amongst his holders and staff at Ruatha, but surely he could behave politely for a few short hours at a Gather.

Alessan only grunted in reply, once again emotionless.

* * *

M'barak returned us to Ruatha early into the night, as neither Alessan nor I indulged in dance- even if I wished, I couldn't, since the added weight of my child seemed to be affecting my balance.

We prepared for bed, in the chamber we shared together. Though our intimacy was often strained, I did not like to leave Alessan alone at night, that silent time where dark thoughts could consume the sleepless. Now that I am undoubtedly with child, we sleep side by side, untouching. I am sure he thinks he is being honorable by not imposing on my body, since we only agreed to marry in order to produce a Ruathan heir. But, in truth, I miss his touch.

Alessan had been unusually surly this evening, so I am deeply surprised when he pulls me toward him with an urgency I haven't seen since he asked me to end his life. We make love, passionately, and afterward he holds me close, his fingertips resting lightly on my swollen stomach.

"Nerilka?" he murmurs against my short hair, but I am too afraid to look at him. I do not want to see his expression turn blank, his eyes grow distant, not right now. So I am a coward, and bury my face into his chest, and I do not answer.

* * *

Author's note, again: Thanks for the reviews, guys! I appreciate the support, and concrit. I'm pretty sure I've screwed up tenses in this chapter and the last, feel free to point out any errors. I'll fix 'em when I get the chance.


	3. Rewriting History

An update after a long, dry period. Life gets in the way, sometimes. Thank you for the lovely comments, though. I hope to continue this story on and off for a long time. It's not as if we can run out of Pern sidestories, right? Now, random comments:

1) One of my favorite things about Pern is the way technology collides with the whole pastoral, pseudo-medieval fantasy thing. Not that Anne ever lied to us about Pern origins, what with her intro, but All the Weyrs of Pern really rocked my socks.

2) As for the Hunger Games, yes, I did go there, just a little bit. It isn't a crossover so much as a shared universe. Maybe "muttations" are possible because of the Eridani. Maybe so much time has passed on Earth - and many catastrophic whatnots, regeneration of the developed land, loss of contact with other planets- that the Hunger Games and the Ninth Pass are happening AT THE SAME TIME.

Now, I don't really believe that- there are too many reasons why that shouldn't be. But it would also be awesome. Anyway, all that because I wondered what songs Menolly could Aivas-google.

3) Also, what the heck is Pierjan? Male or female? Do we even know?

* * *

Title: Rewriting History, or Why Rewriting Moreta's Ride Is Harder Than Fixing a Wikipedia Article

Author's Notes: Takes place after the death of Aivas, but before The Skies of Pern.

* * *

"Hey, Menolly!" Piemur's call was muted equally by the dividing corridor of the Aivas building as well as Menolly's general inattention. After all, it was a rare day that she had any free time, let alone the opportunity to scamper down to the Southern Continent to sort through Aivas's archives.

"Menooooollly."

"Me-no-lly."

"MENOLLY!"

"What?" she called back, over her shoulder, before returning her attention to the precious console she had booked for the afternoon. "Folk, 2nd millennium BCE, pastoral themes, minimal accompaniment, vocal solo, no electronics," she commanded. The screen lit up with a list of hits, and she idly clicked on one- for this trip, she would view the notations first and allow her Pernese interpretation to flavor the music, then listen to the audio file.

The sheet music was simple enough, though Menolly had no gitar to strum the few bare chords. "Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass, a soft green pillow," she sang, and was pleased. The low key fit her voice quite nicely.

"That's pretty," Piemur interrupted, leaning on the doorway. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Didn't you hear _me_?" Menolly echoed. "I said, 'what.'"

Piemur made an elaborate show of rolling his eyes, looking very much like the troublesome apprentice he had been when they first met. "And then you went right back to doing your research," he teased. "Can't you write your own songs anymore? Or do you just have to steal Aivas's?"

"I'm trying to introduce ancient Terran songs into circulation, at least the ones with proper instrumentation and relevance to-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Piemur flapped his hands wildly as she glared at him. "Now hear about me, and what I found!" He didn't even pause for a reply. "The Ballad of Moreta's ride is _completely wrong_!"

"No!"

"Yes!" Leaning over her keypad, Piemur rapidly tapped out a sequence and a scanned image burst onto the screen. "I had brought over some of the old, old, beyond old skins from Fort Weyr, the early Eighth Pass stuff that was stuck together and crumbling, and this is even older than that! It got sandwiched between some lacquered cases and survived, somehow. It's a firsthand account of the plague winter and the heroic deeds of Weyrwoman Moreta, the young Lord Holder of Ruatha, and the incredibly handsome bronze rider B'lerion."

Menolly squinted at the screen. "Incredibly handsome? It doesn't really say that." Piemur tapped on the keyboard again, and the two words became highlighted in yellow. "Incredibly handsome," she read aloud, eyebrows raised, and tilted her head in acceptance. "Why would anyone have bothered to document that fact?"

Grinning, Piemur scrolled the image to the end. "Because this was written by someone named B'lerion." The yellow highlighting disappeared from the text at his command, and he settled himself comfortably in a chair. "Read it."

Several minutes later, Menolly was gasping for air. "But this means - she couldn't hear all dragons - and they were timing - they went to the future to pick - they interdicted Southern - "

Piemur halted her babble with a shaky laugh. "I know, right?"

"We should have Lytol see this," Menolly said, regaining some of her equilibrium. "He'd be so interested in the mutation of the myth. And Capiam! He'd love to know how long the Hall had retained such medical knowledge. And-" Another thought rendered her speechless. "But everyone knows the Ballad of Moreta's Ride," she exclaimed. "Everyone! We'll have to correct it."

"Correct the well-known traditional epic ballad, and make single person on Pern older than, say, four Turns relearn it," Piemur said slowly.

"Relearn it and _like it_," Menolly added with a shudder, thinking of the Abominators.

The two harpers exchanged a long, terrified look. "Let's make Domick do it," Piemur suggested, and printed out a copy.

"Yes, lets." Menolly rolled the paper into a tight tube and tucked it into her rucksack. "I'll give it to him when I get back to the hall tonight. He'll probably have convulsions, then insist on making any changes adhere to traditional balladic form. Now, let me get back to work, _please_, it's taken me weeks to book this console."

Piemur sighed and strolled to the door. "Fine, I'll leave. Before I forget, I've been told that my Pierjan has decided to marry your daughter Lemsia."

"Oh? How did she respond?"

"With biting."

"Get on with you, you scamp," Menolly said, without heat.

"Maybe she's just too incredibly handsome."

"Piemur, out!"


	4. Side Effects

Title: Side Effects

Author's notes: A random companion piece to "Rewriting History." In which Jaxom's extreme discretion in NOT discussing his forward-timing is lightly breached. Also, in case anyone was wondering why the usually music-respecting Pernese were chatting and joking DURING a musical performance, they're all completely hammered! So hammered. Even the performers.

* * *

"To old friends," Jaxom toasted quietly, in deference to the musicians currently performing the fifth encore of "The True Ballad of Moreta's Ride."

Piemur contentedly tapped against Jaxom's glass with his own goblet. "Old friends." Piemur studied the empty depths of his cup with a puzzled, drunken look, before adding a hearty splash from their second wineskin- a '16, in honor of MasterHarper Robinton, whose birthing day the raucous group was celebrating. "We're old, now," he said, philosophical in his inebriation. "Old and busy. Remember how long we lived here at Cove, when it was just sand and blankets and a campfire? Then Landing, and then the mad rush of the Aivas years. Now we hardly see one another."

"Except the ones we married," Jaxom pointed out, smiling a little foolishly.

"And what women we've married! Do you know Jancis is famous?" Piemur boasted proudly. "Famous!"

Jaxom's gaze wandered to their wives, seated at another table. The grown women were laughing uproariously at a story Sharra and Jancis were recounting, probably at their beloved Robinton's expense; Mirrim made several sharp stabbing motions at a tray of melon slices and the group burst into shrill cackles. Onstage as part of the chorus, Menolly expertly aimed a wadded up paper at her rather distinguished cluster of friends, and the noise immediately subsided.

"You," Piemur's finger wobbled a bit as he pointed to the Ruathan Lord Holder, "may have been born into this- this sphere, but I was a lowly herder's boy."

"Sphere?" Perhaps it was the wine, but Jaxom couldn't wrap his head around the word. "Like a ball?"

"What? No. Sphere. Class. Caste. Stratification." Piemur waved his hand around. "Lookit. There's Lessa, the living legend herself, and F'lar, who is probably going to go down in history as the greatest Weyrleader since Sean Connell. He's right over there, I'm watching him eat cheeses, not fifty yards away. Not to mention D'ram and Lytol, and half the Weyrleaders, and most of the important Craftmasters- you know which ones those actually are-"

"Don't let anyone hear you say that," Jaxom cut in.

Piemur rolled his eyes, but nonetheless lowered his voice. "Point is. Twenty, thirty turns ago, I was tending herdbeasts. And not even the prize animals, I always seemed to get the scrawny, expendable, _flatulent_ ones. I never expected I'd be sitting here, surrounded by the elite, the ones who changed Pern and continue to do so day after day with boundless courage and heads and shoulders held high against the endless burden of-"

Jaxom laughed. "Piemur, you're drunk."

The harper shot him a harassed look. "I was just getting started," he complained. "It was going to be really _eloquent_." With a sigh, he subsided back into his seat, pensively fingering his wine goblet.

Jaxom leaned over to grip his old friend's arm. "You, Piemur, are discounting the service you've done for this entire planet," he said, suddenly serious. "Don't do yourself a disservice. You're a hero. Think of everything you've done."

"It didn't all feel heroic at the time," came the quiet reply. "It was scary and confusing, and sometimes even boring."

"Yeah," Jaxom said, at a loss for words. The ballad soared triumphantly as Moreta took to the skies on Weyrwoman Leri's Holth, filling the sudden silence between the two men.

"B'lerion's account of Moreta's ride was fantastic," Piemur said, changing the subject completely. "He should have been a harper. Accurate, funny and heartbreaking at the same time. D'you know," he added dreamily, "when they went forward to a time when Moreta had already died, she felt pleasantly disoriented? Euphoric, even. Rather different than other accounts of timing-related side effects. Not that anyone times forward, that would be insane."

"Euphoric?" Jaxom said dully, his mind fruitlessly battling against wine-stupor. "I've heard of confusion, dizziness. Most often Ruth and I don't feel anything at all when we time it. And we didn't feel anything. Why would anyone feel euphoric if their future counterpart was dead?"

"No sharding idea," Piemur replied idly, until he caught sight of his friend's pale face. "Jaxom?"

_Ruth?_ Jaxom called to his dragon, attempting to quell his panic. _Ruth!_

The white dragon had been sleeping, and Jaxom hurriedly recounted Piemur's words. _We didn't feel anything like that, _Ruth replied groggily. _It was only fifty turns. We will still be strong in fifty turns, if we take care. _

Piemur was used to dragon exchanges, and impatiently waited for Jaxom's attention to return to the feast hall. "You went to the future," he guessed, very softly, but with real anger tingeing his clipped words. "_Why would you risk that_?"

"Aivas." The name held the same authority to Jaxom as it did to Piemur. "Ruth and I ... we went to the Yokohama and checked the trajectory of the Red Star. I had to know," Jaxom admitted, fresh guilt tearing at his heart as he glanced at his precious Sharra, once again reliving the risks he took with his life and Ruth's. He dropped his head to his knees, unable to look his friend in the eyes.

Minutes of silence passed before he heard Piemur's anguished whisper. "And did we succeed? Did we do it?"

Jaxom raised his head. "_Yes_," Jaxom and Ruth said simultaneously, and Piemur jumped at the draconic voice in his head. "Yes," Jaxom repeated with satisfaction, and as it always did, the triumph and relief filled his chest until he thought he would burst with joy.

Piemur buried his face in his hands for a moment, and when he emerged, Jaxom was not surprised to see the dampness in his friend's eyes. "It's one thing to know," Piemur said, wonderingly, "But_ to know._ For certain."

Together, they finished the wineskin before the end of the ballad, with hands that only slightly trembled. "You mustn't tell anyone," Jaxom warned. "No one else knows."

"Not even Sharra?" Piemur said sharply. Jaxom shook his head, and Piemur let out a long, low exhalation before nodding his assent. "Then I swear I won't say a word. For all my life, I'll keep your secret."

"Not your whole life," Jaxom said as they shook hands solemnly. "Less than fifty turns now, or whenever the changes become glaringly apparent. Then we can celebrate with everyone. Well," he hedged, "actually, don't tell them I timed forward, if you please. I don't want to explain it to F'lar. Or Lessa. Oh, shards, Lytol would kill me, if Sharra hadn't already beat him to it."

"Deal."

"Do you think there will be a ballad about us someday?" Jaxom asked, trying to lighten the somber mood with some whimsical speculation.

Piemur smiled crookedly. "Menolly's already starting one, but she wants to get it right- or at least more accurate than the original Moreta's Ride. We're both in it, in case you're wondering."

"We are?"

"Yes, Lord Jaxom and his mighty Ruth, and the incredibly handsome traveling Harper Piemur."

"It doesn't really say that," Jaxom said, after he stopped choking on his wine.

"No," the irrepressible harper replied, tossing back another mouthful. "But it will, after I break into Menolly's workroom tonight and change all her drafts!"

Laughing, the two toasted one last time with the end of their wine. "To heroes," Piemur said, wryly, and Jaxom gladly returned the salute.


	5. Sisters

Title: Sisters

Author's Notes: Takes place shortly after Domick's song (Chapter 1), which takes place shortly after Dragonsinger. Written because I'd like to think petty, vain people can also be quite decent sometimes. :) I find a lot of Pern's characters are written to be largely Valiant or Unpleasant, so I'm trying to give Unpleasant a moment to shine. Also, heavy-handed use of a certain trope at the very end, but how can I resist? It's so romantic. Or something.

* * *

A cautious tap at the door ruined Elgion's self-imposed exile.

He was kidding himself. Exile? Elgion was flat out hiding from Half Circle Sea Hold. After Domick's little revenge, the whole population of Half Circle was creeping around the halls and docks. From what he could hear, no one had even dared sing _any_ song, let alone "What a Fool."

For all he knew, Elgion's dismissal notice was already en route to the Harper Hall. The distance being what it was, it might take some time to reach its destination, and then return.

The tapping started again, and he relented with a sigh. "Come in?"

"Harper Elgion?" Sella, the oldest unmarried daughter of Yanus who still lived in the hold proper, tip-toed around the edge of the door and, easing the hinges slowly, shut it silently. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was feeling cautious about noise these days.

"Please, take a seat." Elgion gestured to one of the empty chairs across from his work table, but Sella shook her head and remained poised by the door.

"I won't take much of your time," she said, but then fell silent, watching with big, apprehensive eyes.

Journeyman Harpers were required to take at least a Turn of courses on mediation and counseling; because Domick had thrown him out of composition sessions, Elgion had had the free time- Master Robinton had kindly called it "the opportunity"- to study this easing practice at greater length. "What can I help you with, Sella?" he asked, modulating his voice to a more soothing register, though even the mere thought of Domick had set his nerves on edge again.

The girl wrung her hands in her skirt.

"Please, sit down," he repeated, rising from where he was seated. Sella relented, perching at the edge of a chair, and he chose a seat directly across from her. "Is something the matter?"

Sella picked at the embroidery on her work skirt, a rather pleasing pattern of white petaled sea flowers; Alemi had pointed these out to Elgion on their outing, as the unusual plant grew quite happily in sandy dirt. "It's ... Menolly. She's a journeyman?"

Add another tally mark to Domick's sins: gossip. "Yes, I had heard that to be so."

"She's Master Robinton's journeyman?"

"Yes, she is."

A furtive glance from underneath dark eyelashes. "There aren't any other girls who are at Harper Hall, are there?"

Elgion knew whatever he said now would probably circulate the whole Hold. He said, carefully, "Well, no, there haven't been official female apprentices and journeymen for some time now. But many of our Masters remember a time when a number of women participated in the Craft in the capacity of Singers, but the movement of people- especially women- between Holds slowed when Fax began his conquest. I believe even fostering was limited during that period. Master Robinton has lamented the recent lack of MasterSingers and females in general, and was pleased to find a gifted musician in Menolly."

Sella's hands were beginning to calm in her lap. "She'll have ... rank in the Hall?" she asked, and Elgion began to understand the girl's real concern.

"Yes," he replied, gently. "Menolly has already attained the status of Journeyman, with all the benefits and respect such a rank affords. And Master Robinton will make sure she does not suffer any bullying or abuse because of her gender. She has his full protection," he added, knowing what dangers a girl in the foreign hold could fear. Fax alone had caused horrifying tales to spread, but Hold life had always been difficult for females without the protection of their family.

"Oh!" Sella's smile now lit up a face that had been pale and creased with worry. "I am glad." Another dratted hesitation, and Elgion groaned silently, though remaining expressionless. "Could I ask a favor of you?"

Eggs, hatchlings, dragons. "What would you ask?" he replied, remaining non-committal but pleasant.

"Menolly, um, _left- _" Elgion almost snickered at the euphemism, "-without any of her things. I was hoping I could pack them up for her, and perhaps if you see her the next time there is a Hatching, or if you see her Master-" Sella cut herself off with horror, realizing she was asking the harper- and Master Robinton- to cart around and deliver possessions like a drudge. "I didn't mean- forgive me! It's just I've asked around, and since no runners come through, there's only boats and dragons, and anything that goes out by boat is reported to Father, and I can't send it by dragon without raising the banner, and I don't want him to know!" Sella looked as if she would burst into tears at any moment.

Shard Yanus. Elgion would behave as decorously as a Harper should- the Hold and its Holder had Elgion's allegiance, at least for his tenure as Harper- but Elgion was still his own man. Also, he suspected if he refused, Sella would melt into a weepy, noisy puddle on his office floor. "I will take a parcel to Menolly or her Master."

"Thank you," she breathed, and fled.

Elgion once again had peace and quiet to contemplate his awful fate. If only it would be that easy to win over Yanus, he thought despairingly.

* * *

Not to his credit, Elgion completely forgot about his promise.

A few months after the Domick Affair, one of Benden's junior queens produced a hearty clutch of eggs, and Elgion was sent word that a dragon would pick him up for the Hatching celebration.

"T'gellan, you wretch," was Elgion's greeting as the bronze dragon landed on the heights.

The rider had the temerity to grin. "Hello to you, too."

With the arrival of T'gellan and Monarth, the dragonheights had suspiciously cleared of any holders. Elgion suspected no one wanted to be caught in "that rider's" presence. "Please tell me this is the first moment of freedom you've had from hard, filthy, punishing labor at the Weyr," Elgion said, with little hope.

T'gellan gave a bright, merry laugh. "You'd think I would have been grounded for firestone duty, right? Turns out, Lessa thought it was funny. She wanted keep Menolly for a queen dragon, you know, according to _Mirrim_. She did have F'lar shift around the wings, though. I won't be flying Half Circle for a long time."

"You wretch," Elgion repeated, and sighed. "And of course Lessa likes Domick. They're both ... what should I call it ..."

"Perverse? Vicious? Evil?"

"Yes to all."

"Don't tell anyone I said that, or I _will_ be grounded. And then I couldn't take you to Hatchings!" Elgion couldn't argue with that logic. "I'm to take you and maybe the nice brother, I don't know his name. _Mirrim_ said that Menolly told her she liked one of her brothers."

"Alemi's out with the fleet right now."

"Oh, well." The bronze rider looked out to sea, where a few bright dots of sail floated near the horizon. "Well, Menolly will still be glad to see you. _Mirrim_ said she would be at the hatching, with a brand new song."

Elgion wondered if T'gellan could even hear himself. "Really? Is that what _Mirrim_ said?"

T'gellan flushed. "Yeah. And shut it." Elgion laughed, and then Monarth dropped his jaw and gave a deep chuckling rumble as well. "Both of you!" he continued, petulant, before he too gave in to laughter.

Several minutes later, Elgion was _still_ laughing too hard to even fasten his flying jacket and _still_ hounding the rider about his obvious crush on a bossy fifteen-year-old child, when a crash and a wail interrupted their banter.

T'gellan slid down Monarth's helpfully outstretched leg to help a sprawled dark-haired girl from where she had tripped on the top step. Sella's armful of packages had burst, spreading brightly colored bits of cloth and trinkets all over the stone heights.

"Harper," she panted, disheveled from her run and fall, "I hurried as fast as I could!"

And Elgion belatedly remembered his task. "Let me help you," he said, a little guiltily, as Sella knelt to pick up the mess.

"Sella," he said, as he rescued a handkerchief from being sucked straight into Monarth's curious nostril, "aren't these your pretty things?" The bit of cloth in his hand was stitched with a silvery, arching fish and artfully churned waves, a motif that matched the edging on the tunic Sella was currently wearing.

The girl's bottom lip wobbled a bit, and Elgion cursed himself silently for opening his big mouth. "Maybe," she said, and then gave way to torrents of weeping.

Monarth laughed at him silently. Like rider, like dragon. Wretches, the both of them.

Sella sniffled, wetly, and took the hanky from him, folding it and putting it in the reformed bundle. "After I spoke with you, I went to Menolly's room to collect her things. Mother had already given away all her clothing!" she exclaimed, with all the outrage of a pretty girl who embroidered even her everyday work clothes. Sella unwrapped a little knot of cloth, revealing a little whittled wooden shipfish, some shimmering shells, and a smooth sea stone carved in the shape of an M. "And what couldn't be reused, I found buried in the ash pit. I searched and searched, but these were all I could find. It's like she never even existed."

Elgion fingered the leaping shipfish, recognizing Alemi's work. T'gellan finished gathering the rest of the scattered possessions and folded them silently before walking back to his dragon, climbing up on his wide bronze back and leaning against his neck. Elgion suspected Monarth was comforting T'gellan, or at least talking him out of doing something rash.

"She doesn't have anything from Half Circle, and maybe she doesn't want to remember us. But it's still not fair." Sella nodded her thanks at T'gellan, and tied the neat bundle securely at the top. "I'll hand it up to you," she offered as she stood, extending the package toward T'gellan.

"Why don't you bring it to her yourself?" T'gellan asked. "Monarth can carry two as easily as one. And I've a spare cloak for visitors." He patted the fleece-lined wherhide cape tied and rolled at the front of Monarth's harness.

Sella hesitated, hugging the bundle to her chest. "I wasn't very nice to her," Sella said, abruptly, new tears making tracks down her wet cheeks. "She won't want to see me."

"She'll know you care about her," the bronze rider said, and Monarth nodded his great head as well. "I think Menolly needs that more than anything right now. And it'll be fun," he added, either not knowing or not caring about what was amounting to near-abduction.

Sella looked at her clothing, rumpled from her run to the heights, and then at T'gellan and Elgion, dressed in their Gather best. "I shouldn't," she said, a little sadly, and drew back. "I look a mess."

Elgion looked at her red eyes and bitten lips, her face aglow with a new sensitivity she hadn't possessed before. "Why, Sella," he said, and he meant it, "you're never looked more beautiful." Her answering smile was radiant.

Quickly, before good sense intervened to ruin the adventure, they enveloped her in the extra fur and strapped her to Monarth for her first dragon ride. As he wrapped his arms around the delighted, trembling girl, Elgion wondered how in the world he would ever get free of Half Circle if he ended up married to a daughter of the hold.

* * *

P.S. I'm working on a _Dolphins_ story next.


	6. Dolphineers

Thanks for the comments! Firelizardkimi, I added that bit about Moreta riding Holth just for you :) And Mantlady, your HG/Pern encouragement might be a dangerous, dangerous thing ...

* * *

Title: Dolphineers

Author's notes: An AU version of the ending of _Dolphins- _the first thing I thought when I read _Dolphins_ was "does Kami have a crush on Readis at the end?" Because that's the shipper in me.

Also, I'm not sure how much time passed in the book. It appears to be at least a season, though.

* * *

After the hurricane, every single person in Paradise worked a full, hard day twice over, Alemi included. So when he came across his weeping daughter pilfering coarse fishing thread into an already full storage net, he couldn't even begin to formulate a hypothesis.

Kami didn't say a word, but remained hunched on the ground as he silently inspected her burden. "Nets, combination knives, a first aid kit, shears, matches," he identified. "Blankets and sewing thread, rope, oilcloth, cooking pots and- is that Aunt Temma's jungle blade?"

"Yes," Kami said. "Her's was the best. But I've also _stolen_-" her voice cracked on the word. Kami had always been a good girl, and it hurt Alemi to see the shame in his daughter's eyes as she admitted her theft. She cleared her throat, raising her chin defiantly. "Stolen your metal spearheads and your axe. And more," she finished, lifting a fold of cloth to show him a neat bundle of line and bent wire.

Alemi crouched next to her, rocking back on his heels a bit in his exhaustion, and automatically added a couple of extra reels of line to the pile- one line was never enough, in his experience. Better to have a spare or two.

Her father's quiet, kind silence was broken by a whispered confession. "Readis is leaving the hold," Kami told her father. Despite her tears and lowered voice, her voice hit the air like controlled flicks of a steel blade. "He told me that Lady Aramina forbade him from seeing his dolphin friends again, and he rode out on Delky with only the clothes on his back."

Alemi reeled backward, landing on his rear. By rights, he ought to report this to his Holder, to go after the boy and haul him back. But Readis was like a son to him, and as the years passed, had become an intelligent comrade in informal dolphin studies. To separate Readis from the sea and dolphins was unimaginable ... and cruel. "Anything he needs," he ended up saying, "take it."

Kami launched herself toward him, and Alemi found himself wondering just when his little girl had grown up. "I know nothing about this," Alemi warned her. "Tomorrow, you must go to Jayge and tell him you saw Readis leave on his runnerbeast."

His daughter smiled sweetly, looking all of her tender eighteen years, and Alemi could _almost_ forget the fierce, competent young woman who had packed the incredibly efficient survival gear. "Of course, father," she said, as the last of her weeping cleared from her face. "I think he went North, or West perhaps. Headed towards the sea, or the river?" she added vaguely, and ended with another innocent smile.

"Perfect," Alemi told her, laughing. After one last hug he stood up, stretching his weary body. There was still much left to do, and Readis was in good hands, whether he knew it or not. Which he didn't, Alemi rather thought, and smiled. Perhaps someday Readis would be his son after all.

* * *

The next morning, Alemi did not suspect anything until he found two safety vests missing. He tore into his hold and found his daughter's room empty, with a few items of clothes and shoes missing, and a hastily written note:

_Dear Father,_

_You told me to take anything I needed for Readis. _

_I think he needs me. _

_I promise I'll come home. I love you and I'm sorry._

_Kami_

Alemi hid the note amid his personal papers, which Kitren never touched. When Kami did not emerge for the morning meal, Alemi let his wife gradually discover their daughter's absence, and wondered if he would ever have the courage to tell her what he had done.

* * *

Readis liked to think himself a modern man of Pern, and readily admitted that he would have been in dire trouble had it not been for Kami's strategically chosen supplies and marvelously bossy expertise.

Within a few days of finding the caves and tide pools, she had cleared an inner cave for Delky, fashioned a sturdy "door" of sorts to prevent the entry of predators, built a small oven from rocks and clay, and drawn up plans for a garden. Together, they gathered and crushed brightly colored round fruits, mixing the bitter rind with the sticky juice and pulp inside, and spread the resulting goo around the perimeter of the cave's multiple entrances. Hopefully the scent would deter felines, who according to Aivas abhor citrus, even if it did attract a vast number insects. Along with Readis's fish traps and carefully built enclosures for live fish storage, the cave had quickly been transformed into a rather comfortable- if plain and primitive- home.

Kami had only stitched one frond-filled mattress, and when he noticed this, Readis had offered to sleep on the beach for the first night. She had given him the oddest look, and it wasn't until she had taken off all her clothes and pushed him onto the blankets did Readis realize he not only had a hold of his own, but a wife as well.

* * *

Alemi sent his fire-lizard to Harper Hall, to seek the advice of the only person he knew to ask. To his surprise, within half an hour, Menolly wriggled down the side of a patient, hovering bronze dragon to land on the deck of his ship.

"Dear brother," she said, and held him as he cried. "When I ran away, I didn't promise to come back. She did, and she will."

* * *

Exactly half of the pod of dolphins wanted Readis to be their communal dolphineer, while the other half chose Kami. He suspected they had agreed to this ahead of time, using their private underwater dolphin language, so neither of the humans would feel hurt and unwanted.

"Only until more more more," Cal insisted. "Then each have own dolphineer. Then no sharing!"

* * *

Again, Loki leaps, the rope snug between her teeth, and the clapper merrily slams against the side of the dolphin's bell.

Again, Delky's terrified scream echoes through the caves louder than the peal of the bell.

"Readis, for the love of little dragons, can't we put the bell _outside_ the cave?"

* * *

To be fair, it was _Readis's_ dream of founding a Dolphin's Hall. Kami, despite her ingrained love of the sea, enjoyed the dolphin's friendship but couldn't dedicate the same enthusiasm to the craft as her lover. With the agreement of her half of the pod, Kami resigned her formal partnership and instead turned her mind to, as she wryly called it, "running the Crafthall."

Landing School had provided an education too broad to hone any one specific craft; instead, the repertoire instilled discipline and quickness of mind. Both served Kami well as she secured the hold, drawing upon historic examples and executing her ideas by means of trial and error.

Among other minor achievements, Kami was especially proud of her fence, based off of Aivas's description of cavalry and defense tactics. Sturdy bambu poles spaced at intervals provided a low frame, while sharpened rods were dug into the earth at an angle. Homemade rope bound each individual piece together, until the whole was strong enough to hold significant weight. With a ditch directly in front of the fence, and nearby trees and branches cleared around the area, Kami felt her garden and Delky's haven was reasonably feline-safe.

Of course, finding a very dead, very impaled feline was an added reassurance. The spotted creature had tried to leap over the ditch and the fence. Once she figured out how to cure the hide, it would make a lovely addition to their home.

* * *

In the late afternoon, both Readis and Kami would swim with their friends, to bathe and relax and exchange stories. The formation of this pod, it seemed, had remarkable similarities to the formation of Paradise Hold. Cal was the leader, assigned to the area by the mysterious "Tillek," while Tursi and Loki were siblings who had been shifted to this pod when their mother's group had began to grow too large. Their younger sisters Tini, Josi, and Sandi had then followed, with older aunts Rena and Leta accompanying to aid Cal in training a relatively young pod. (No one could explain exactly how Delfi had chosen to join the group. Her relatives were mostly at Cove.)

"It's just like Temma and Nazer, and Swacky," Readis said sadly, referring to his aunt and uncle who had relocated to the Southern continent.

"And my father," Kami added, feeling the twin pangs of melancholy and grief.

The five sibling dolphins leaped and chattered in elaborate sympathy. "Can be lonely, without family," said Tini, who had never been without her sisters and brother.

But Delfi rolled around the two humans, before stopping to aim a bright round eye at both of the humans in turn. "Sometimes must make own family," she told them, wisely. "I know."

Kami wrapped a slippery arm around Readis's wet torso, leaning into him as they tread water. "We know, too," Readis replied.

* * *

Leta, the oldest dolphin in the pod and mother of six, circled around Kami several times before poking her nose into the flat, human belly. "Baby inside."

* * *

The next day, the pod and Readis went on a coastal expedition, which turned out to be a brazen lie on the dolphins' part. As a responsible pod leader, Cal instead swam Readis to a private cove to discipline the young dolphineer while the others waited a polite distance in the open ocean.

"Have not swam the Great Subsidence," she told him, smacking him with her tail as she churned the water around his moving arms. "Not supposed to mate until tested through the current."

Readis inched a little closer to shore. With his good leg, he could just touch the sandy bottom. "Humans don't do it that way, Cal," he said. "We prove it to each other, and then make a baby, and then we raise it and take care of it. That's all."

"Prove it?" Cal squeed, ominously. "How prove it?"

A teenaged boy's rough description of an espousal thus followed. The dolphins, excited beyond measure by this new game, rushed Readis home in record time. Loki rang the bell wildly until Kami approached the water, whereupon Tursi pulled her in by the hem of her skirt.

If Kami was initially confused as to why Tursi insisted on dragging her down a corridor of ecstatic dolphins to "give her away," she gasped with realization when Cal began a simple, heartfelt marriage ceremony.

"_Now_ you kiss husband and wife," Cal demanded at the end, and they obliged, gladly.

* * *

While the concept of marriage between two individuals was new to the dolphins, Readis' description of the fostering system resonated very strongly within the pod. The child, gestating quietly in Kami's belly, was regularly referred to by the pod as "our baby."

The fever was catching. With permission from Cal, Josi took leave from the pod for four sevendays, in order to visit the Tillek and to take on the Great Subsidence. When she returned, two young males followed in her wake, competing for her affections. One slunk away- Readis never did learn his name. Jimi, sleek and triumphant, decided to remain with the pod for the time being, and quickly established rapport with the other expecting father of the pod.

* * *

"Swim with me, Readis," Theresa said, and Readis obeyed, pulled out of the tidal pool and into open ocean. To his surprise, Kami was already with the rest of the pod, her safety vest fastened over her best remaining cotton dress. They approached the tide with great speed until they caught sight of two large boats rising above the waves.

"Theresa, you're the Tillek?"

* * *

Readis was hauled aboard, dripping, followed by Kami, who was immediately swept up into a hug by her father. The sea water plastered her dress to her increasing waist, which did not go unnoticed by anyone on board- but especially Alemi.

"I don't know whether to hug you or kill you," he told Readis, only half joking, before thumping the younger man on the back.

Readis tried to grin, but only succeeded in looking queasy. "We did get married," he said hastily, and his pod noisily affirmed this from the water.

"Married?" his mother cried, aghast. "When did this happen?"

The two delinquent dolphineers exchanged a loaded glance, and Kami's hand crept unconsciously to her belly. "Well," Readis hedged, "soon enough. Cal, our pod's leader, did the ceremony."

"And it was lovely," Kami added.

"Married by shipfish," Aramina muttered, to Readis's dismay. "Does it even count, legally?"

Perhaps Aramina hadn't meant for herself to be heard, but the Tillek nonetheless surged higher in the waves and held herself aloft near the ship's railing. "As I understand it," the Tillek said, words clipped, "the criteria should be fulfilled. Cal's rank is equivalent to that of your holders, and her function also encompasses a journeyman harper's duties within a hold. She also reported the marriage through dolphinsong, which was passed along through the pods until it reached me at my residence."

"Which is more than each hold is required to do," Menolly added, seeing Aramina's mouth begin to open in protest. "Harpers usually do send their records to Harper Hall, but in remote holdings or holds that have no resident harper, marriages are considered valid even when documented only in hold records. Holds are, after all, autonomous."

"Like pods," the Tillek added, serenely, though Readis imagined he saw a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

His father gave a barking laugh. "You're just mad," Jayge said, with the reckless bravado of a much younger man, "that you didn't get to see it!"

Aramina huffed and huffed, sputtering incoherent replies, before breaking into tears and clutching her son to her. "I didn't get to see it!" she suddenly sobbed, and began to laugh as well.

After a brief pause, in which every other person on the boat (harpers, holders, craftmasters, and _especially_ dolphineers) exchanged a loaded, relieved look, the whole deck burst out in celebration.

* * *

"Aramina, mother of Readis."

The woman named walked slowly to the railing of the ship. "Yes?" she answered, warily. The others were taking refreshment on the other end of the deck, while Kami was having a brief prenatal checkup below deck with Master Oldive.

The Tillek, floated idly in the water, inspecting Aramina first with one eye and then the other. "I do not know what to think of you."

Aramina opened her mouth, thought about what she should say, and closed it again. "I don't know what to think of you, either," she admitted.

"Thank you for your honesty," the Tillek replied, cordially, before something in her expression shifted. Aramina hadn't thought dolphin faces could ever look anything less than friendly. "That is, after all, the only thing we can hope from you."

"What do you mean?"

Other silvery shapes joined the large dolphin, looking up at her. "You were afraid, so you hated us," the Tillek said, plainly. "You could hear us, but you decided not to listen. Our children were dying, and you would have let them die. You would keep Readis miserable on land so that you wouldn't have to confront your own fears. You embody the ignorance and prejudice Readis will need to work against, in order to forge the acceptance and recognition of his Dolphin Crafthall."

Aramina wanted to back away, return to the safety of the human crowd on the other end of the boat, but her clenched hands were fixed to the railing. She felt held in place by the calm, all-too-aware, eye of the inexorable Tillek. She wondered what a meeting between Lessa and the Tillek would be like, and who would emerge dominant in a battle of wills, and decided she would rather be anywhere else on Pern instead.

"You are Mother-of-Readis, and that is all you are to us," the Tillek continued. "We will treat you with respect, according to tradition and duty. All dolphins will ensure your safety and well-being in the ocean." Despite her words, no guarantee had ever seemed less reassuring.

"Thank you," Aramina managed to say, and after the dolphins had swum away to the prow of the ship, she leaned over the railing and vomited.

* * *

The Dolphin Crafthall, for the time being, would be working very closely with the Harper Hall and Fishcraft Hall. Quarters were being built to house a number of rotating apprentices and journeymen, each of whom would be spending six weeks with Kami and Delfi, the official dolphin representative. Kami had designed a crash-course in Dolphin Studies, including a brief history, basic anatomy and first aid, and communications segment; she hoped one day that each boat would have a dolphin-certified communicator on board.

T'lion and Gadareth, when not fighting Thread, spent much of their free time shuttling visitors to and from the Dolphinhall. T'lion accepted that, for the time being, full time dolphineer training must not take preference over his traditional dragonrider duties. Instead, Gadarath claimed a cliff cave as his weyr, and the two spent their evenings in the sea, awaiting the end of the Pass.

With the birth of James, named after the famous settler Jim Tillek, T'lion found that he was asked to transport Aramina more and more often to the hall. Readis found her to be a very doting grandmother to little James, which helped Kami free up time to essentially design Pern's future attitude toward dolphins.

When he told her how glad he was that she was comfortable with dragons again, Aramina merely smiled, looked toward the sea, and agreed with him.


End file.
